The warehouse was dark. And totally still. Mickey could hear the rustlings of rodents in the gloom. And, more faintly, the low-frequency rumbling of traffic on the nearby M25. The warehouse had been built thirty years ago, capitalising on the improved communications engendered by the new motorway. And had probably made its owners a lot of money, over the years. Until a year before, when a brief but intense fire had swept through it. A combination of highly flammable products, a faulty sprinkler system and a careless night watchman who liked to smoke.

Half of its framework had been declared unsafe. The abandoned building now of more interest to lawyers than paying customers. Fit only to be pulled down and rebuilt. A process still pending the agreement of liabilities and compensation. First delayed, then postponed indefinitely by the impact of global events. Gas and electricity cut off. Reduced to a cold and lifeless shell. Nothing that a well-bribed moonlighting sparky couldn’t solve, of course. Which was how come Mickey had been able to run a hundred-metre power cable across the darkened building.

The click of a car door closing got him up on his toes. So Lewis, if it was Lewis, had found the Mazda. Parked with a fraction of its back end visible from the road. Tamara’s car. Bait. Mickey had walked past the Merc outside the gym fifteen minutes before. An easy stroll, not breaking stride. Sports bag over his shoulder. Making sure that it was Lewis that had been sent to watch the gym. Checking that the enforcer was alone.

He’d collected Tamara’s phone and keys from the front desk. Where she’d left them waiting for him on production of his warrant card. After a terse conversation that had scared the shit out of her. Mickey still feeling guilty at having laid it on so hard. Telling her what would have happened to Mark. And what would happen to her if she didn’t run. Telling her to leave her phone behind to avoid being tracked. To spend cash to get on the bus, avoiding both her car’s tracker and her card being traced. And to go to a friend’s for the night. Somebody not on record at the Clarion.

Car keys in hand he’d walked into the changing rooms. And straight out of the back, warrant carding his way through the staff exit. Finding her car where she’d left it. And guessing that Joe’s hacker would be able to track her phone. And put him and Lewis in the same post code. Both hunters. Both hunted.